


Little Victories

by apple_pi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, I thought, Wouldn't it make a good story if John and Rodney were both doctors, and John always hit on Rodney and Rodney pretty much ignored it, and mostly they were just friends and worked together to save lives and were tired and jaded but still dedicated and brilliant in their cynical, caring way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Victories

"Hey, McKay."

"How's the graveyard shift?"

McKay slumped half-over the counter at the nurse's station counter; all nurses had fled the scene.

John hadn't moved, and he didn't now, only aiming a mock-sincere stare at the other doctor. "You know, that's a really inappropriate phrase to use on this ward at 3 a.m."

McKay snorted and pillowed his head on his arms. John had a brief fear he'd go to sleep there. "Must have missed that last sensitivity training," McKay replied, though, and after a minute he lifted his head again. "I have a mole on my back," he said.

"You don't have cancer, McKay," John drawled, stretching out his name. McKay hated that. The only thing he hated worse was when John did it to his first name instead of his last. "But if you want to strip and show me, I'll look." He leered.

McKay snorted. "Where's all your coffee?"

"In the cafeteria, moron," John replied. "Same place as yours."

"Cadman used to love me," McKay said mournfully, straightening with a wince, working his neck slowly back and forth. "She'd give me the good coffee. We were like two souls sharing one mind when it came to fresh-ground Kona."

"That's a little creepy, and Cadman went back for her Master's eight months ago." John leaned back in the swivelly chair and propped his feet on the desk. "Also, she hated you."

"Yes, but she recognized my need for _coffee_," McKay snapped, glaring at John. He stood with his hands on his hips – oh, the things John could do with those hands, those hips – and waited.

"What?" John finally said.

"Come _on_." McKay began stomping toward the elevators.

John pulled his Pumas off the desk and levered himself from the chair. "Fine, but I'm not paying this time."

"I don't know if I remembered my wallet," McKay said immediately.

John made a point-and-shoot gesture at Shapiro, who was peering around the corner to see if McKay was gone already. "Go slower, I'll stare at your ass and let you know," John said, sauntering after him and winking at Shapiro. She made a disgusted face and John's grin widened.

"Whatever." McKay slapped the down button on the elevator and waited for John, rocking on the balls of his feet, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The cafeteria was nearly deserted, its only other occupants two nurses seated beside the exit; John and Rodney carried their mugs to a table by the window and settled in.

"Cure cancer yet?" John asked, slouching into his chair. He shifted and pulled his pager off the wasitband of his scrubs, depositing it on the table.

"Sure, as long as you don't mind having the treatment kill patients a lot faster than, say, the cancer," McKay replied. He launched into a long-winded explanation of exactly how the latest trials were going, and what morons his so-called colleagues were, and just what he was going to do with the Nobel money when he finally overcame their incompetence and cracked the toxicity issues he was having with the latest round of virals.

John nodded along and drank his coffee and asked a question or two, but mostly he just watched Rodney talk, watched various expressions fly across his mobile features, watched his large, precise hands point and flail and swoop through the air.

"Is that thing going to go off?" McKay asked abruptly.

John blinked. "What thing?"

"Your pager." McKay slumped into his chair. "Is it going off tonight?"

"I don't know," John said. "Mostly it's been a quiet night, but there are a couple of folks who're right on the cusp." He glanced at his watch. "I've got rounds in about forty-five minutes."

"Cheerful job you've got," McKay said. It was what he always said.

"Yeah, well." John lifted his mostly empty cup in mock-salute. "You're the man who can change it." Those words, too, were ritual.

McKay clinked his mug in return and they both swigged the last bitter dregs of the cheap cafeteria swill. "Salud," they said in unison.

They ambled back to the fourth floor ICU. "What're you doing for breakfast?" McKay asked in the elevator.

"Don't you mean who?" John smirked at him and McKay yawned, leaning against the mirrored wall of the compartment, arms folded across his chest.

"Yes, yes," McKay said. The doors dinged and they walked out side by side, shoulders bumping companionably.


End file.
